


Kenneth's Friends

by yuletide_archivist



Category: British Actor RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-20
Updated: 2008-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 06:53:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1637606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Story by Peak in Darien</p><p>Stephen and Hugh just can't help teasing Kenneth on the set of 'Peter's Friends'. But Kenneth is becoming suspicious of their double act.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kenneth's Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Michelle

 

 

It wasn't that Kenneth didn't have a sense of humour. He could be funny when he wanted to be. Honestly.

He just took his acting very seriously. That was all.

It was two o'clock in the afternoon, and they had started again.

"What's this revue you're planning, Ken?"

"Or is it a sketch show?"

"It's Hamlet, actually," said Kenneth, tight-lipped.

"Oh, _Hamlet_ ," tittered Hugh.

"Don't know how we missed that," added Stephen. "Of course, you would be dignified."

"Quite the thespian."

"Above the trivial comedy of the plebes."

"I'll have a doublet and a ruff, please."

"And a brooding pose."

"Do you do a brood, Ken?"

"Go on, show us your brood. Start at 'mild angst'."

"Then crank it up to 'smouldering existential crisis'."

And Kenneth, hassled and prodded and provoked, would eventually cave to a pose or a line of the bard. Hugh and Stephen would heap further ridicule on it, of course, bouncing off one another. They seemed to find it excellent sport.

"You mustn't get discouraged, Ken, dear. They'll produce it one day."

"Yeah, they'll put it on ITV."

Kenneth smiled with one corner of his mouth, and tried to look as if he was too cool for it all. He was the director, after all - he could be cool. But he saw Emma smiling in the corner of his vision, just as they were getting into their flow.

"Give us a preview, darling," said Stephen.

"This is your big moment. Bow, and face the audience," Hugh instructed.

"Say something Shakespearian, like 'alack'."

"Or 'milky-livered sop'."

"Yes, 'sop' is good."

"I'm not in the mood, you two," said Kenneth, attempting casual. It was largely ignored.

"Come on, give us a soliloquy!"

"You love it."

"Do _A Midsummer Night's Dream_."

"You don't need an ass costume."

"Just be yourself."

Emma was close to giggling outright now. Kenneth tried unsuccessfully to curl the other corner of his mouth into a smile, and walked back to find the second cameraman.

It was only that night, when he sitting next to Emma, sharing a bottle of wine, that he thought to raise it.

"Emma," he said, running a finger down her arm.

"Mmm?"

"Do you like it when Hugh and Stephen do their double-act?"

"Oh... I don't know. They're just a pair of silly prats, really." She turned to face him. "They're just joking around."

"But they're funny prats. I saw you laughing at Hugh today."

"Oh darling." She kissed him lightly on the neck. "You're funny, too, but you've got depth. You're like a twenty-storey building. You've got all kinds of wonderful levels to you."

He smiled, appeased. 

After a few more kisses, he said, "You don't see Hugh that often, any more."

"Well, you know what it's like with filming. And he's always off with Stephen these days, anyway."

"Yes," said Kenneth. 

He looked ponderously at his wine glass, and didn't say any more. 

*

The _Peter's Friends_ script was flattened out on the floor of Hugh's room, largely forgotten beneath a multitude of pink paper. Stephen had decided to write a sketch called 'Margaret Thatcher's Nipples', and he had insisted the paper be pink.

"If it's not nipple-coloured, I simply cannot write."

"Go and find it yourself, then," said Hugh, only slightly disgruntled.

"An artistic genius must not be made to hurry to and fro like the common man, Hugh. Fetch me some pink paper, there's a dear."

They wrote, and made jingles, and threw paper at each other's heads. Eventually they decided to make toast and tea, complete with milk and sugar and cream. After a good half hour of indulgence they lay side by side on the floor, surrounded by plates and a rose-coloured forest of paper.

"You know," said Hugh, mid-way through a huge bite of buttered toast, "We really should ease up on Ken."

Stephen looked at him with mock horror. "Do you want to suck _all_ the fun out of my day?"

"I just think he's starting to get a grudge against us."

"What a preposterous notion. Anyway, we can't go around worrying about other people's grudges. We'd never write anything."

Hugh rolled onto his side, so he was directly facing Stephen. "I just feel a bit mean, is all." He smiled. "I've got a guilty conscience."

"Well, misery face, there's no need to punish yourself. You know I'm far, far more skilled in the art of punishing you." 

Stephen took the toast out of Hugh's hand, dropped it back on the plate and shoved it aside. He moved in closer, pulling himself up within a centimetre of Hugh and slipping a hand between Hugh's thighs.

"Stephen..."

"Ssh, darling. We've other uses for your mouth."

"Stephen... mmf..."

"Hush."

"You're crushing all the paper."

"Fuck the paper. Fuck it sideways, around a corner, and back again."

With diminishing resistance Hugh reached for the pink pages under his elbows, only just brushing them out of the way before Stephen pressed him down into the floor.

*

A few nights later they were all at the local pub, clutching drinks and laughing at Imelda. Her penchant for puns seemed unquenchable.

"Why is the wine in heaven so good?"

Emma grinned. "We don't know, Imelda."

"Because the grapes are fresh off divine."

There was eye-rolling, and giggles, and a slow clap from Kenneth. Stephen reached over and grabbed Imelda by the arm.

"You're coming with me," he said.

"I beg yours?"

"Jokes of that calibre simply cannot be allowed. I must escort you to the bar where you will be examined, prodded, and given another round." He paused, looking around at the group. "It's your pun-ishment."

Loud groans accompanied them to the bar. When they came back, Stephen took Imelda's seat next to Hugh, casually, without a word.

He waited until everybody was distracted before leaning over and nuzzling Hugh's neck. It was worth the risk to see Hugh's cheeks flush.

"You look good," said Stephen, quietly enough for the others not to hear.

"Oh, shut up," Hugh whispered back.

"That shirt is absolutely scrumptious. I can't wait to take it off."

Hugh smiled. "Shall we leave?"

"Yes, rather." Stephen got to his feet and pushed in his chair. "All right ladies, and ladies," he announced to the group, gesturing at Kenneth. "You've all been terribly good sports, but I'm afraid the bell has tolled. The knell has sounded, and while I hate to bring sorrow to any party, I am afraid I must announce that unhappy hour when I leave you all."

Rita booed, and Emma threw a peanut at Stephen's head. He ducked.

"Accompanying me tonight will be my maid of honour, Miss Laurie. We plan to wed paper and pen, and give birth to many sketch-children. Until the morrow, my sweets!"

They swept around giving everyone a quick goodbye before departing. Hugh gave a low, dramatic bow, and Stephen gave a many-flourished salute to Kenneth. 

Once out the door, Hugh couldn't wipe the grin off his face. He made it all the way to the car before yielding to a kiss. 

When they got to Stephen's room, they didn't make even the vaguest pretence of writing.

*

Kenneth saw them the next day, between takes. Emma was standing on a chair doing John Cleese impressions, and Hugh and Stephen were sitting together on the couch, laughing and shouting out encouragement. 

Emma seemed to be having the time of her life. It took some minutes before she spotted Kenneth in the doorway, and hurried over.

"Am I up yet?"

"Five minutes." He kissed her on the cheek. "You'd better go and prepare."

As they left, Kenneth moved in to join Hugh and Stephen. They were sitting close together, thigh against thigh. He sat down on a chair beside them, and darted a quick glance at them.

"Anything on your mind, Hamlet?" Stephen said.

"You know what," said Kenneth, "I've got you figured out."

"Is that so?"

"Do share," added Hugh.

Kenneth shook his head. "You think you've got everybody fooled."

Inconspicuously, Stephen shifted his leg a little apart from Hugh's. "Er, of course," he said. "You've busted us well and truly, and we promise to hand over the stolen drugs at once."

"Don't get too cocky," said Kenneth. "I'm sure I'm not the only one who's noticed."

"I don't mean to seem rude," said Stephen, "but what in name of dog's bollocks are you talking about?"

"This flirting of yours," Kenneth replied.

Hugh and Stephen shared an uncomfortable glance.

"You think I can't see that you're both after Emma?" Kenneth continued.

There was a pause that seemed to stretch forever.

"Ah," said Stephen.

"Oh," said Hugh.

Kenneth looked from one to the other. It was queer - they didn't seem at all ashamed. In fact, they looked relieved! 

"Don't even think about denying it," he said, irritably.

"You're mad," said Hugh. "Emma and I are good friends. No hanky-panky business. And Stephen - "

"I'm a homosexual," Stephen interrupted, helpfully.

"I know what you say, and I know what I see." Kenneth looked gravely at them. Mere reason didn't seem to have changed his mind.

"Ken, dear, I think the heat is going to your head," Stephen said.

"Yes," said Hugh, "he's overexcited."

"A touch of sun."

"We're inside," Kenneth pointed out, but he was ignored.

"Let's get the man some air, Hugh."

"Yes, I think we rather should."

And Kenneth, helpless, was taken under both arms. They bustled him out through the house, passing Imelda and Rita, and ignoring the laughs and questions. Only once outside did they let go of Kenneth and let him straighten up. 

Stephen stepped back to survey his confused charge.

"There," he said. "Now try to breathe deeply, and repress the paranoia."

He convulsed with silent mirth as Kenneth, glaring furiously, went back inside. Hugh began to chuckle, and the two of them stood there, saying nothing, just pouring out relief and laughter. When the door of the house was safely shut, they allowed themselves a kiss.

*

That night, in bed, they lay facing each other. It was a moment they had shared many times over: the sudden quietness before sleep.

"You know," said Hugh, breaking the comfortable silence, "I really thought he'd busted us."

"Who?"

"Ken."

Stephen smiled. "Well, one can't cast Ken as the astute detective. It doesn't seem right."

"I can't help worrying that one day..." Hugh trailed off.

"Now, I've warned you about this worrying business." Stephen let his fingers drift upwards till they were tracing the edge of Hugh's jaw. "We're far too subtle to get caught."

Hugh laughed. In the half-dark, his lips found Stephen's, and it tasted like contentment.

 


End file.
